Bothered
by Miss Elisha
Summary: An outtake from my Gain of a Loss universe, taking place between chapter 7 and the epilogue.George and Luna have been dating for a couple of months. Are they ready to take the next step?


She said it had nothing to do with my birthday. For having nothing to do with it, it was a rather large coincidence.

Mum had made us all come to the Burrow for dinner. Ever since Christmas she'd had a thing for big family dinners, and no occasion was too small: holidays, birthdays, Sundays, and the occasional Thursday found any number of Weasleys gathered around her table, for no more reason than Mum wanted us there. Most of the time we weren't all there, but on birthdays attendance was required. Not that any of us really minded; she needed her family around her right then, and I for one was happy to oblige. Sometimes you just need to know people who love you are near.

So there we all were, with more food than we knew what to do with, a few presents, typical Weasley birthday fare. After dinner we were all in the living room chatting and laughing as we usually did. Fred and I were sitting on the sofa, with Angelina and Luna in our respective laps.

Since Christmas she and I had been getting perceptibly closer. I'd held her hand that day, and at Fred's wedding I'd kissed her. On Valentine's Day I'd spent the evening with her curled next to me in front of the fire. On Ron's birthday I'd pulled her fully into my lap for the first time, and when I did she held my gaze for a moment, then blinked very slowly and shot me a whisper of a smile that only I could see, and this became our accustomed sitting position.

By my birthday I was downright addicted to her, to kissing her, to touching her hair and her skin, to holding her in my arms, to smelling the candy-sweet scent that was distinctly, enticingly Luna. I was doing my best to keep from Apparating her back to my flat and taking her without warning, and it was getting harder to restrain myself every day. Every second.

But as much as I wanted her, I didn't want to rush her. She was so different from every other girl I'd been with—hell, every other girl I'd _met—_and I didn't want to mess things up. I was determined to give her whatever time she needed, even if it did mean going home every night to wank in the dark of my flat, picturing her in those pale blue robes she'd worn to Fred's wedding, or in the t-shirt and cutoffs whose image had sprung to mind so close on the heels of the first, or just in whatever she'd been wearing when last I saw her. If that's what she needed, that's what I'd do.

And now Luna had her hand on the back of my neck, the tips of her fingers tracing light circles just at the base of my hairline. It was maddening. And my body responded accordingly.

She must have felt my rise, because she turned to me and leaned close, her voice barely more than breath against my ear—which really didn't help my situation at all—and asked, "Am I bothering you?"

I nodded slightly and answered in the same manner. "You could say that."

"Then take me home." Her words were so unexpected, so sudden, so perfectly unanticipated that I could not respond. Was she really asking me to do what I thought she was, what I hoped? Surely not. Most likely she actually did want to go home, to her home, and I would kiss her goodnight at the door as usual, as going inside was risking too much. But then she shifted, pressing against me, her lips brushing my ear. "George?" she breathed, and I jerked slightly, my own breath seeming to return all in a rush. "Take me home."

I could only nod.

She slipped from my lap and stood directly in front of me, smoothing her skirt. Fred looked over at me, then at Luna, chuckled, and shook his head. Then he leaned slightly towards me and whispered conspiratorially, "I'll block for you, just go."

Before I had a chance to respond, Angelina squealed and jumped up. Almost immediately she spun around, grabbed a pillow from the back of the sofa, and proceeded to smack Fred about the head and shoulders with it, all the while yelling, "Fred Weasley, I don't care if it _is_ your birthday, you'd just better watch yourself!"

Taking advantage of the distraction, I quickly stood and crossed behind Mum's chair. Putting my hands on her shoulders, I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm going to take Luna home. Thanks for dinner." She patted my hand and smiled, wishing me a happy birthday. I waved my goodbye to everyone else, then guided Luna out of the room.

Stopping only briefly for our cloaks, I let her lead me outside, half expecting to follow her once again on the walk to her house. To my surprise, she walked only a bit away from the house before turning to me and asking, "Will you take me to your flat, George?"

"You want to go to my flat?" She nodded. "I thought you wanted to go home?"

"No, I . . ." The way she paused, I could tell she was nervous. "I'd rather go to your place. I want to stay with you."

"Of course. We can go anywhere you like." Then she leaned against me, and I wrapped my arms around her, and a moment later we were standing in my living room.

The flat was somewhat smaller than the one I had shared with Fred, but I didn't really need the space. I wasn't there much anyway. When you've shared a space with someone else your whole life, suddenly having one all your own takes a little getting used to, and I admit that more often than not I made a point of being with someone else. Mostly Luna, whenever I could. But she seemed to like my flat, and made herself right at home there.

Without moving away from me she took a deep breath and said, "Thank you. My house is too crowded for us just yet."

"I don't care where we go, Luna, as long as you go with me." I tilted her chin up so she could see my smile, and she stretched up and kissed me.

Next thing I knew she had taken my hand and was leading me into my own bedroom, and I was gladly following.

She shut the door behind us, then, frank as ever, turned away from me and immediately cast a contraception charm, laying her wand on the nightstand when she had finished. She paused for a moment, tilting her head the way she often did when she was trying to concentrate. Then she said, "Oh, that's much more comfortable than the one my father taught me. I'll have to remember to thank Ginny."

"Ginny showed you a contraception charm?" I might have to thank her as well.

"Yes. It was a little strange though. She kept looking at me funny, like she had a secret, which I thought was odd considering the topic of conversation. Typically people showing one another contraception charms aren't the type to keep secrets."

"That was probably just because I'm her brother, and she didn't want to think about me . . ." I trailed off, not able to finish the sentence out loud.

"Well, it was nice of her to show me in any case. I don't think she thought I knew anything about them at all."

As much time as we'd spent together, as many hours as we'd spent talking about everything that crossed our minds, it almost seemed odd that this subject had not come up, especially when you considered the nature of my thoughts whenever I was in her presence. She'd long since admitted to having no previous boyfriends, but that did not necessarily mean she had no experience whatsoever. After all, I'd never been in a particularly serious relationship before either, but I wasn't exactly inexperienced. And though if I'd had to guess I would have leaned towards her being more innocent, with Luna you never really know what to expect. So now that the subject was practically breached, I'll admit to being curious. "So, you do know about them then? I mean, you've used them before?"

Before I even finished speaking I was embarrassed at having asked, and nervous of how she would respond. But, in typical Luna fashion, she answered simply and without hesitation. "Of course."

"Oh." I was hit with relief, intimidation, and, if I'm honest about it, jealousy at the thought of her with someone else, the idea that someone else's hands might have touched her before mine, known her before me.

"Well, I had to practise, didn't I, to make sure I knew how to properly perform the charm? That's not one I'd like to have going wrong."

The jealousy dropped like a stone, and my intimidation and relief flipped: intimidation that it was entirely up to me to show her, to guide her, to protect her, to hold her and respect her and teach her everything love was meant to be; relief that there had been no one else, that I was the one to earn this trust, that she was the one thing in my life I never had to share. The responsibility, of her, of this moment, was mine and mine alone, and, weighty as it was, I was glad of it, glad even of the intimidation. "No, I suppose not."

But Luna, despite her nervousness only minutes ago, didn't appear intimidated in the least. Stepping close to me, she locked my eyes with hers, then calmly reached up and began to unbutton her jumper. I could not stop my gaze from following her movement, but when the third button exposed a patch of bright purple bra I stopped her hand with mine. "Are you sure about this, Luna?"

Her eyes widened slightly in what I recognized as surprise before she lowered them to stare at our hands, poised as they were over her chest, her fingers still on the buttons of her shirt. "Do you not want me?" she whispered, and I would have given everything I had not to have asked.

I placed a finger under her chin and brought her face up to meet mine. Raising an eyebrow and giving her what I hoped was my most disbelieving of stares, I answered, "Oh come on. You know perfectly well how much I want you."

"Then why—"

I cut her off by running my thumb over her lips. "I just don't want to push you. I don't want you to think you have to do this just because I can't control myself."

She fixed me with a disbelieving stare of her own. "Oh come on. You know very well that I don't have to do anything I don't want to. I'm a very talented witch, remember?"

"Remember?" I said, smiling a little. "I probably know better than anyone."

Nodding, she said, "Let's hope so." She held my gaze for a moment longer, then ducked her head slightly and looked up at me from under her brows. "So are you going to finish undressing me or do I have to do it myself?"

My reply was a little more enthusiastic than I think either of us expected. "No, I'll do it." She raised one eyebrow and gave me a small grin. By way of explanation, and in the hopes of alleviating any portion of the awkward tension I was feeling, I half-joked, "I've been undressing you with my eyes for months already, the rest of me is eager to share in the fun."

"Oh good. I'd rather undress you anyway."

At times her bluntness still catches me off guard, and I must have given some sign of it, because she grinned. In retaliation, I quipped, "My, my, aren't we saucy this evening?"

"Saucy? I thought I was just being honest."

I shook my head. "No, I'd say that was definitely saucy."

"Hmm . . . Then I think I like being saucy." She gave me a half-smile for only a second, then dropped it and said, "But George, you still haven't taken my clothes off."

"See? You're being saucy again."

"And you're making jokes because you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous, I'm just . . ." Her disbelieving stare returned, and I gulped.

It's strange, being with Luna, not because of who she is but because of what she does to me. Her sudden changes in mood and direction are jarring, and every single one of them has an effect. Never in my life has one person been able to affect me so much by doing so very little. Most people barely brush the surface of my emotion, and by and large I prefer it that way. But Luna . . . every word, every inflection, every hint of expression that crosses her face causes some reaction in me. I had no reason to be nervous at this juncture, really, but it felt like I was facing the most important moment of my life right then, and, try as I might, I could not steady the waver rising in my gut. "All right, you got me. I am nervous."

"But I thought you'd done this before?" Her voice was softer and higher than it had been only seconds before; she was nervous too. She was doing her best not to be-—nd pulling it off a good bit better than I was, at that—but her words made it clear that she was looking to me for courage. And I was doing a miserable job of providing it.

"Not with you."

For only the second time in my memory, she blushed. "I'm nervous too. I keep telling myself that I have nothing to be nervous about, but I can't stop."

I could practically hear the reassuring words running through her mind, and her face was suddenly tight with the strain of battling her own emotions. I kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheek, and whispered, "If we can't stop being nervous, perhaps we should stop talking instead."

She opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again and nodded. I tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, trailing my fingers along her jaw, then moved to kiss her, and she turned her face up to meet me.

Kissing her always did make everything easier.

For months I'd been fantasizing about this moment, about watching our clothes fall to the floor, about running my fingers over her bare skin, about tasting her neck just there, and when her hands slid under the edge of my shirt and up my chest I gasped. Every movement, every touch was frantic and savory and imperative, and I relished the light feel of her fingertips gliding across my stomach, the slim line of her body only a breath away from mine, and finally the revelation that there was nothing left to separate us in any way; the moments played out in half time as we touched and kissed and discovered with blissful, excruciating slowness. She was soft and curved where I was rough and angular, silk to my grit.

I was almost surprised when my legs found the edge of the bed, and I don't know if she had been pushing me in that direction or if I'd been pulling her. At that moment it became real, more than a fantasy that had played out in my mind so many times; my world solidified, my life began and ended right there.

"Luna," I whispered, taking her face in my hands, "I love you."

She didn't respond at first but closed her eyes and seemed to tremble. But then she shook her head at me, took a breath, smiled, and said, "I know that, George. I know."

"Of course you do. But I needed you to hear it. I needed to say it."

"Do you need to hear it?"

For an instant I almost considered saying yes just on principle. But then I realised—I knew too. She would not have offered if she didn't, wouldn't be here at all. "No." I shifted away from her and sank down to the edge of the bed, trailing my hands down her arms and pulling her towards me. "But I wouldn't mind being shown."

There was only the slightest hesitation before a smile formed on her lips, and then she was on me, straddling me, pressing against me, breasts and legs and arms and lips and _skin_. I don't know what I expected her to do, but I was shocked, entranced, overwhelmed with her, and my senses reeled.

But the taste of her mouth on mine was gone too soon, and she buried her face in the crook of my neck and asked, her voice high and strained, "_Do_ I have anything to be nervous about?"

I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her to me and gathering her hair to one side. I kissed the side of her head and answered, "No, love, you can stop."

She nodded, and I felt her take three or four deep breaths, hot against my neck, and with each one she relaxed a bit more. I kissed her hair again, her neck, her shoulder, slowly, willing her tension away. I didn't stop, I couldn't; I needed to reassure her, to show her everything would be all right. Nothing else mattered as long as she was okay, as long as she was with me, as long as she was touching me, kissing me. Her lips slid up the length of my neck and brushed my ear and I thought _Just like that_ as I sucked a breath through my teeth. Her lips remained.

And then she was moving on top of me, pressing against me, towards me. My hands slid down her sides to her hips to urge her on. She rose slightly, angling of her own accord, and engulfed me with a small whimper, and I hissed and bowed my head into her shoulder, panting as if I'd just run a mile.

"Are you okay?" she asked, not moving other than her lips, and if I had had the air I might have laughed.

"Me? Am I okay?" She nodded. "I'm bloody brilliant. You?" I asked, still panting at the feel of her, warm and slick and tight and _finally_ around me.

"It hurts a little, but I'm okay. I think I just need to get used to you. Do you mind if we just stay like this a moment?"

"If we never move again I will die a happy man."

"That won't be necessary. I think I might actually like moving at some point."

"Well, that sounds promising," I said, punctuating my words with kisses across her collarbone and up her neck. My hands regained their sense of motion and began exploring once again, my fingers tracing the length of her spine, the curve of her shoulders, the slope of her chest. Somehow this exploration was different that that of only moments before, not a frantic discovery but a benediction, a supplication, an offering of adoration and reverence. Every inch of her my lips could reach with my limited range of motion was kissed, tasted, emblazoned, from the tips of her fingers to the underside of her chin, from her eyelids and earlobes to the tops of her breasts. I continued, hands and lips and fingers and tongue moving slowly, gently, until she seemed to melt in my arms into utter suppleness.

When I looked up at her, her eyes were closed and her skin was flushed, but a small smile played upon her mouth. "Are you all right, then?" I whispered, and she nodded. "And do you trust me?"

"I trust you," came her reply.

Wrapping one arm around her waist and holding her to me, I rose up and flipped us over. For a moment her legs tightened around my hips and my breath caught at the increased pressure, but as I laid her down she relaxed again, sliding her feet down the backs of my legs as I stretched out above her. I brushed her hair back out of her face and asked simply, "Okay?"

"Okay," she answered, nodding again. "This is a bit different, isn't it?"

"I thought it might work a little better," I said, offering a half-shrug.

She smiled and ran her fingers through my hair, saying, "I trust you," then pulled me down to kiss her once again.

With the movement of our tongues came the movement of my body, all of my restraint evaporated in an instant; I could not force myself still again. A slow, easy slide was all that I could manage, and after months with no more contact than the palm of my hand, a slow, easy slide into _Luna_ was nearly my undoing.

Then, without warning, she hooked one of her legs over my hip and rolled against me. "Oh _fuck_," I hissed. "You shouldn't do that."

"You don't like it?"

"No, I like it. That's the problem."

Her eyes widened in a flash of realisation, and her lips curved into a wicked little smirk. "I thought that was the point."

"Not yet. I want you to enjoy this."

"But I am enjoying this."

"You'd tell me if you weren't, wouldn't you?"

Her expression softened, and her hands slid down my back and to my hips. She pulled me tight against her, into her, and whispered, "I think you need to stop talking again, George."

Of course, she was absolutely right. Our mouths met once again, and now she was urging _me_ on, pulling and pressing and grinding with me and for me. She met me thrust for thrust, arch for arch, fitting me perfectly, the most exquisitely pleasurable surroundings I've ever known. Her hair pillowed beneath us, my fingers weaving through, its honeysuckle scent still barely discernable over the smell of our sex. The soft sheen of her sweat leaving the taste of salt on my lips. Our involuntary hum and murmur hanging in my ears, sounds mingling as bodies converged. Such delicious assault overpowering my every sense, thrumming in time with our movement, stoking the last ounce of me for that final, inevitable release.

And that came all too soon.

I nearly collapsed on top of her afterwards, but somehow managed to roll to one side and pull her against me. We didn't speak for a while, just lay there letting our breath find us again. I couldn't have managed much more than that.

She was the one to break the silence. "I didn't know it would be this messy."

I smiled and kissed her forehead. "I guess I could have warned you about that. Sorry." I grabbed my wand off the night stand and performed a quick cleansing charm. "Better?"

"Much. That was rather sticky."

"Not much we can do about that, I'm afraid, except clean up after the fact."

"That's all right. It was worth getting a little messy," she said.

"It did seem like you were enjoying yourself."

"Yes, that was quite enjoyable. Of course, I didn't really expect to have an orgasm my first time—there are too many other new sensations to focus on—but I think I'd like to try it next time. Now that I know how it works, I won't be so distracted."

"I don't know, Luna, that's a pretty tall order. I'm sure I need a lot of practise."

She laughed and snuggled against my chest. "You know, you're probably right. After all, practise makes perfect, doesn't it?"

"Apparently so."

"George," she said sleepily, "are things going to change now?"

"What do you mean?" I asked in return, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

"Ginny said everything would change."

I sniffed. "Well, Ginny would say that."

"Why?"

"Because I am her brother, and because she is my sister."

"Oh." She was quiet for a minute, but apparently the question was still bothering her, because she asked me again. "So _are_ things going to change?"

"Luna, the only thing that's changed is that now I have another way to show you how much I love you, and how beautiful you are." I felt her nod against me. "And hopefully you'll agree to stay over more often." She chuckled slightly and nodded again. "And I'll finally know what _you_ look like when you wake up, even if I have to stay up all night to find out. It's only fair."

"Don't worry, George, you don't have to stay up. I think I'll sleep in tomorrow, so you can find out then."

"Good, I'm knackered."


End file.
